


Halloween XIII

by azhiraz



Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII-2
Genre: F/M, Halloween, Horror, Other, Sexuality, mature themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:45:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4399586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azhiraz/pseuds/azhiraz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of brief snapshots with a Halloween theme, loosely inspired by or based on famous horror stories, movies, and music, using the characters from Final Fantasy XIII & XIII-2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes: The theme of Halloween was given as a challenge in October 2014, and the resulting snapshots are fast and loose ideas on the screen, each written within a time limit of 3 hours. At the moment, 11 of 13 short snapshots of Halloween themed short stories with Final Fantasy XIII characters were created during the past months for the Muse's enjoyment, whom has a liking for all things dark and sinister at that time of the year. Hopefully a full 13 tales will make the story complete by next All Hallow's Eve. A plentiful supply of dark music gifted by Muse fueled the author's mind and fingers, and a few specific songs may be mentioned as inspiration or in the storyline itself. Famous lines, storylines, lyrics, and Halloween-appropriate characters were lifted with abandon from all over the place, and hopefully the spirit of fun I had with it will rise in the reader as well. ( Cheesy pun intended, er, um, uh…).
> 
> Again, the business of full disclaimers also arises: Absolutely no intent of profit is intended, the stories are for amusement only. Please note there are adult themes, language and situations in some of the stories, so this is rated M for good reason. Full credits to the following authors/musicians/films:
> 
> All characters of Final Fantasy are Square Enix
> 
> The Sixth Sense
> 
> Edgar Allen Poe ( The Fall of The House of Usher)
> 
> Bram Stoker ( Dracula)
> 
> The Illustrious Race of the Irish ( The legends of the Seelie and their Changelings)
> 
> The Bedouins ( Legends of the Djinni)
> 
> The Rolling Stones ( Sympathy For The Devil)
> 
> Lynch Mob (Wicked Sensation)
> 
> Cat People
> 
> The Lost Boys
> 
> Ozzy Osbourne (for all general intents and purposes ; P )

Hope was frightened, more frightened than he'd ever been in his 14 year old life; he had just seen half the travelers on the purge train get shot by PSICorp. They'd all heard the cries and screams right outside the window, figures that crumpled to the ground in oddly disjointed heaps, like his little marionette he got last Holiday; faint shrill voices begging for mercy, the word NO engraved into his mind in a thousand different cut glass shards of pain & fear until he was shaking and shivering. He broke into a cold sweat as he heard heavy thumps at the door to the passenger cabin; he tried to squeeze himself into the corner, making himself even smaller, praying it would make him less noticeable to the soldiers when they finally broke through.

He couldn't see his mom in the crowd of people trying to pile up luggage and tear out seats to block the door and started to cry, then slapped a hand over his mouth to stop it; _Etro-damn it, I'm not a baby anymore, this is real life, I am gonna die if I don't do something! Please, please if anyone is out there, help me!_

He sank down between the seats in a pathetic little puddle of crinkly white plas-cloth sheeting, the symbolic badge of shame for any L'Cie on Cocoon; he moaned as the heavy pounding grew louder & more metallic on the door; the soldiers were sure to break in at any moment now. Suddenly a flash of blue between the seats startled him; he whimpered, almost as shrill as the voices outside, then it died in his soft pale throat as the blue sparkled and winked at him; it was an eye, the prettiest eye he'd ever seen, peeping back at him between the seats.

"Psst! Hey kid! C'mon, look here!"

He stared and hestitantly spoke:"Uhhh…W-who are you?"

The eye crinkled in good humor, strangely at odds with the tension in the cabin: "Lightning. Guardian Corps sergeant at your service. Helluva place to be right now, eh? Look, PSICorp will bust through in about a minute and start pulling everyone out – it's an execution. I am going to get out of here, and if you want to live, come with me."

"N-NO! my Mom! What about her?"

"She'll be right behind you, little man. Hey, what's your name?"

"Hope. Hope Estheim."

"Ok, Hope. Here's what we do. When they bust the door, duck. Get under these seats, lay flat. And when I tap your foot, start crawling, fast…but quiet. No sound, got me? There's a mechanic's hatch at the end of the car. Now, you gotta be a real soldier for a few minutes, Hope. You are gonna be a little army of one, just like ol' Lightning here is. You're in front, so you're point man, ok? Look at the floor while you're crawling and if you see boots stopping, then you STOP, and don't move a muscle. Move when the boots move, and you'll get to the hatch, easy as pie. When you get to the hatch, do the same thing. Wait for a noise, make sure boots are moving, so no one hears the hatch opening. Then get out and run like hell to bottom of the platform. There's rebels there. They'll help you. Now. Last thing ya gotta do as a soldier: Get a weapon. You MUST have a weapon. I gotta gunsaber, a Blazefire. You know what they look like? "

Hope nodded, his silver locks falling over a leaf green eye, now bright with interest: "I know. The Blazefire kicks ass, Lightning!"

"Good. If you can find one, grab it. Just grab it by the pistol grip, swing hard as you can to the right to unlock the blade- it'll snap in place, you'll hear it – then raise it like a rifle, and start shooting anything in PSICorp Yellow. You gotta do this, promise me? Promise?" Her tone took of a flinty hard edge, almost desperate in its intensity.

PSICorp was almost through the door, and Hope ripped off the purge robe and wriggled under the seat towards the lean figure lying flat on the floor of the car, in Guardian Corps brown & white; he slid forward and got a good look at her face. He was astonished; it was a girl, no, a young woman, a goddess impatiently waiting to charge; the sparkling azure eyes were set off by a mess of icy rose hair, set in a lean face, elegantly set with high cheekbones, a delicate nose and lovely arched brow, now rather sardonically cocked at the stupidity of the PSICorp soldiers, who'd still not been able to blow the main cabin doors. Matching icy rose satin lips quirked in a smile, briefly lighting the cramped space with a radiance that made him smile complicitly too.

Then the door opened, and the soldiers pouring in. Hope trembled and looked at her: "Lightning, I don't know if I can do this…"

"It's not a question if you can or can't, Hope. There are some things you just have to do."

She smiled again and jerked her head silently towards the hatch. Hope started to scrabble forward on his belly, doing exactly as she said: Look at boots. Stop. Wait. Move with boots, keep moving, almost there, no! Stop. Wait for boots to move, now, move, keep crawling, ignore the dirt on the floor, ignore the screams above you, keep moving to that hatch. Then, he was there, his hand clumsily patting the red and white striped metal. He looked for his rear guard, and she shimmied into place beside him, her uniform warm and soft, smelling of some sweet flower; she silently glanced at him, full of admiration, proud as his mother, eyes crinkling in good humor once again; he blushed, but this time kept his eyes steady on her, adoring, totally beginning to develop a crush on her, despite the tense situation. Her eyes took in the expression on his face, then they softened into two lakes of the most limpid blue, welling up with an unknown emotion crossing her face; then before he knew it, he was crushed into her body in a fierce embrace, the rose satin lips kissing his own darker rose and he was kissing her back, hands fisting in her roseate hair, bucking closer to the warmth of her lean body; then she pushed him away, hand over mouth to keep him silent. She gently mouthed in his ear, her voice dropping to the very nadir of her throat in a beautiful husk he never forgot: "Damn if you aren't cute as all hell. Wish times was different, I do. Now. Go get 'em. I'll be right behind you with your mom, Hope. I got your back."

Then he pulled the hatch as the full auto guns started to fire in the cabin and dropped out, quick as a skittering squirrel, then ran like hell toward the bottom of the platform. _Weapon, I need a weapon, Dammit I need a weapon! Look! LOOK! Don't look at the faces, ignore the black stains on the ground, just look for a weapon and pick it up. Oh Etro, is that a hand?_ He swallowed his bile and kept moving past the dismembered body, past the blood, past smoking bits of things he didn't want to know about.

He saw a heap of bodies, brown and white, ahead: Soldiers! Guardian Corps! One MUST have a weapon! He shuddered at the maimed, burnt and bleeding bodies carelessly piled; there were weapons, but there were too many bodies on top; he almost broke, he almost ran away, but then an arm flopped loose and a body rolled off the heap, landing in an untidy bundle of rusty brown and white on him; he tripped and fell across the soldier, tears starting to his eyes, then with an explosive jolt, he saw a slim hand clutching a Blazefire gunsaber; he began to pry the fingers off the pistol grips, then grunting, pushed the tall lean form over to get leverage to pull it from the deathgrip of the dead sergeant; at first it wouldn't let go and he growled, a feral sound of determination he'd never had in his voice before: "Let go, I need I weapon! Damn you, _**she**_ told me I need a weapon! Leggo!"

Then suddenly the hand relaxed and he fell again, the gunsaber clutched in his delicate too-small hands, his face landing next to the dead soldier's face.

Too shocked to scream, he stared back into the blank bluer than blue azure eyes and tumble of untidy roseate hair of his soldier girl, his Lightning, lying there dead and slit ear to ear at her pearly throat, staring complicitly back at him with a secret smile on her pale rose lips.

_I've got your back._


	2. The Fall Of The House Of Villiers

Again, another sleepless night; Snow was up again, pacing restlessly, downing Lebreau's best brandy like it was water, muttering: "Stop it. Stop it."

Sazh gently touched his arm to get his attention:"Stop what?"

"Oh damn it, I keep hearing noises in the house at night. I've checked the attic, the basement, everywhere but there's no sign of 'em."

"Of what, Snow?"

"Oh. Rats, I guess. Though sometimes it sounds bigger. Say, did you hear anything?"

"No, man. I just heard you."

"They all say that, even Noel. Want some brandy while you're up with me?'

Sazh lazily grinned, and held his hand out for a glass, then threw himself into a chair by the fire and sipped appreciatively. He kept the concern off his face and thought: _Snow, old boy, you're losing it, and I don't know why. I'm prescribing some Xanax tomorrow. And running a CT scan on that thick skull of yours. I thought you'd be over Serah's death by now, but maybe you just stalled your grief. Ah, how the mind fools us!_

The test was clean, and things went back to normal for a week. The Xanax had Snow calm, until he got drunk the next Saturday night at Lebreau's. Sazh was surprised at his old friend suddenly looking up at him from his drink, eyes glittering strangely: "Sazh? Do you think there…there was any way she could have survived? That maybe we were mistaken? Like it was a kind of a coma, or a focus completing, except she doesn't turn to crystal?" He rubbed his neck, licked his lips and leaned forward, almost whispering: "I think its…her. She's coming back. We buried her alive somehow. And she's coming back. I can't stand hearing it, it's like the mice are stomping like monsters in the attic, and…and…" the once-booming voice dropped to scratching whisper: "The…gate has appeared again. She's coming through that, I think. Sazh…what am I gonna do?"

"Serah is dead and gone, Snow. She's gone onto a better place. The dead don't come back, unless you're a Fal'Cie. And there are no Fal'Cie left on Pulse, Snow. Even…even if we were mistaken, there's no way she could have survived outside the Time Gates and the Historia Crux. You've been there, man. Now, what do you mean, that a time gate has appeared again? I thought all the time paradoxes were solved by Noel and Serah."

Snow rose, and grabbed Sazh's arm, dragging him out the door as he nearly ran to his velocycle outside; a wild careering ride ended with a spray of gravel in front of the extraordinary House of Villers. It was a somber place when dark, the open windows grinning like broken teeth and white curtains dancing in the night breeze like jigging ghosts; in the daylight, it was a lovely mansion, grey stone with pink granite sills and steps, and a pale pink and grey marbled entrance hall, built to enhance the pale rose beauty of Snow's dead fiancée. But it remained empty, sadly bereft of its mistress, who was expected to fill the halls with laughter and the bedrooms with children; Snow refused to give it up, as he had put his skilled hands to work himself on the masonry. He used to tell himself he wanted to feel closer to Serah at first, but over the past year, he had become slowly more frightened of the dwelling, nervously imagining noises, and feeling like someone was watching him from hidden corners; he'd taken down or shrouded all the mirrors after claiming he'd seen something move behind him and stand close, a dark shadow, a…slim…dark shadow. He spent most of his time away from the house in the evenings, because he didn't want to be alone in the house with whatever it was.

They'd all tried to get him to leave, start over, sell it, purge the memory, even Serah's sister, Lightning. Noel was punched in the face and never came back; Hope had called Sazh in desperation, and here he was, wading through the mental maelstrom of the distraught ex-fiancee's mind at 9:30 in the evening, so he wouldn't have to admit him to the hospital in New Bodhum. The house was quiet & well lit when the big man flipped the switches in the entry hall, but Sazh was rather astonished to see a pair of ebony doors on the wall of the formal living room; they looked like any other pair of French doors in the house, but Sazh knew they led nowhere; the dining room was right next door, and the wall was blank and smooth where the doors should be. He raised his eyebrows at Snow and waited silently for him to explain.

Snow cringed visibly, and suddenly trembled as a slow soft steady sound commenced; it was muffled, a soft reverberation, like a hollow echo somewhere deep in the house.

A faint tight smile painted on his lips, he sighed: "I should have insisted…I knew…somehow, someway, she wasn't gone. I've made a terrible mistake, I let them bury her. Now I'm going to pay for it. Etro help me."

Sazh calmly sat down, and took of his well-thumbed book of Etro, and began to quote from the book of the dead, the gentlest & most comforting phrases he could think of; but the book soon dropped nerveless from his hands as the soft tock-tock became more pronounced and the strength of the vibrations started to gently shake the floor, setting the delicate chandelier tinkling.

Snow's hands gripping the back of his brocaded wing chair were white; he looked sickly and wan under his golden tan, and with a supreme effort, he drew the chair to the doors and sat down in front of them.

"You should leave now, Sazh. Before she takes you, too. I hope she'll be satisfied with one soul. After all…I was the one closest to her heart; her beloved, and I condemned her…I let her be buried alive. She's coming."

"Serah's DEAD, Snow! Leave with me! This noise…is just…unexplained phenomena! It's not HER, Snow! How could one little girl make so much noise, even if she were alive?"

"Fool! Can you not hear her? Didn't you tell us all how acute senses are, after being a L'Cie? "

"Nonsense! You're overwrought, man!"

" _Madman! I tell you she now stands outside the doors!"_

As if cued by his wild cry, the time portal thundered as it spun to a stop, opened its ebony doors, sliding back slowly like dark wings to a somber red glow inside; a rushing gust of hot wind blew out, sulphurous, dank, rotting putrid flesh borne on its invisible currents.

And then they saw her, there, just beyond the gate did stand the slight figure of the lady Serah. Her emaciated arms held the stargazer bow she'd been buried with, and shaking she drew it; a single bolt buried itself in Snow Villier's neck, and with an uncanny lich-like strength, the disjointed pipestems of limbs rearranged themselves, snapping the line attached to the nock, dragging her faithless fiancée to the mummified, rotting, once beautiful form; his screams were muffled by the fountaining blood and they rapidly dropped to a gurgle as he collapsed against her, now dead, a victim to the terrors he had expected.

Her dull eyes, crystallized in their sockets shone with a wild gleam, triumphant; then the gates swung shut and a strange radiance filled the room as a dull hum rose from a subsonic itch to a skullsplitting whine; Sazh ran from the house, pelting down the gravel path until he was out of breath before he looked back, only to see the walls of the mansion fold in and crumple, warping in time and space until it was torn asunder and sucked into the black void of the time gate, leaving a few fragments to flutter to the dark waters of the Sulya Spring to be swallowed in its sullen leaden depths.

And so did fall the House of Villiers.


	3. Chapter 3

Jumping through time gates was getting tiring for Noel; he'd fallen asleep in the Historia Crux and been rudely awakened with a jolt as his body hit the soft sands of the world the gate just chose for them. He looked over at Serah and complained: "Why didn't you wake me up? That was a real pain!"

Serah shrugged and faintly smiled, and Noel promptly forgot his aching posterior and bruised elbows; she was a real beauty alright, and his whole being just radiated when she was in his sight. The smoothest alabaster skin, which never seemed to bruise or scrape, was imbued with a faint shimmering glow from the open time gate door; her face was sweet, adorably sweet, with a perfect brow enhanced by subtle curves of cheekbones and a dainty chin that was just made to chuck and pull upwards in a kiss on those ever so soft rosebud lips. However, the eyes of palest sapphire were hooded and almost as hard as the gems they were compared to; something must be wrong with the timeline, or she sensed an anomaly close by; normally the gem-eyes were clear and sparkling, hypnotic with a bright steady gaze. He laughingly told her once he'd felt sorry for her fiancée Snow, because once he was within her sights, it was like staring down a basilisk or a cobra – Snow had absolutely no chance of escaping her focus. She only smiled, pearly white teeth glinting with a touch of elemental wickedness, before raising her eyebrows in an even more delightfully wicked smug look. He'd laughed his fool head off at her then.

But today, he was tired, strangely so; Noel felt out of breath, a weakness he couldn't explain; a lethargy would overtake him after a few hours, when formerly he could run all day and night close to her side. Later, after they'd eaten their fill of behemoth flesh, Noel avidly sucking the juices out of the sizzling meat like Serah, did he feel restored to his normal self. He dug into his pack and offered a swallow from the leather flask he always carried; Hope had kindly refilled it with Academia's best vintage, a burgundy, red thunder in a bottle. She wrinkled her nose, as she always did, and pushed it back at him. He almost insisted, instinctively knowing this planet was dry and she'd become dehydrated if she didn't drink; then he gave into her soft eyes and girlish almost-lisp telling him she had drunk already at the little trickle of a spring where they had made their kill. She seemed weak and looked over at him adoringly, then carefully snuggled into the warmth of his arm as they stared at the flames as they grew brighter in the onset of the evening. Serah seemed to gather strength with the sunset, and was restless at dusk, impatiently striding about the campsite, idly swinging her bow into position at the stars.

"I want to go look for the artefact and get more food, Noel."

"Ok. Mind if I just rest at the campsite for a little longer? How about you get more food, and come back to get me before looking on your own for the artefact? You know, your sister told me to look after you – by the way, where's Mog? I haven't seen him for a while."

"Oh. Er. Um. I think he's sulking. He's staying in weapon form." She gestured helplessly, another charming smile on her lips; she tilted her head and gently shook her rosy hair, competing with the glow of her pearly skin in the dusk. He'd never seen anything so beautiful, and his heart ached for a moment that he couldn't touch; then out of the blue his skin crawled at the mental picture of embracing Serah. _Snow's girl_ he reminded himself, overriding instinct. _You know what will happen if you let yourself fall for her. Leave her alone._

He waved her on, as he settled himself comfortably back by the fire, reaching for another charcoaled rib of Behemoth as she smoothly disappeared into the night landscape of this empty world they'd been thrown into. A half turn of the clock later, things were much improved, and he decided to go find Serah and start hunting their artefact; so he began to follow the single set of footsteps through the dunes, hoping she'd have spotted another meal on legs for breakfast tomorrow. Or maybe a midnight snack – Etro, he was hungry. He thought he spotted her in the distance, some three dunes ahead; the moogle-bow shot a bolt eastward, and a single squeaking titter indicated a hit; then he blinked, as somehow, Serah suddenly seemed to swarm over the dunes like she was an insect, scuttling with incredible speed and retrieving her prey. He whipped out his monocular and focused on the little scene on the dune to see what she'd shot: Shocked, he dropped the little eyeglass and his body went into autopilot, rolling down the dune, then running back to the campsite and drawing his blade; after five minutes of high alert and jumping at every noise, he overrode his instincts and told himself to put the sword down, sit down and relax; he must have been mistaken. It was Serah, _Serah_ for Etro's sake, not any Fal'Cie, Cieth, or monster. He must have been overwrought.

She came back later, lightly triumphant, a small mammal in her hand and set it to roast over the fire while they slept. Noel ate little, his appetite disturbed as he saw how neatly the kill had been blooded; he correlated it with the small nightmare in the eyeglass last night. He almost told Serah, but shook his head, thinking she'd make fun of him for imagining her lifting the creature to her and suddenly biting down on the neck as it squirmed and squealed trying to escape the pearly set of teeth and rose lips stained scarlet with its blood.

The next gates jumped were even more tiresome, and Noel found himself slowly growing slower, sleepier and weaker with every jump; the last two were far in the future, and there was little life to be found, so they did not eat. He grew afraid, and asked Serah to stay close, as he was worried they'd not have the strength to make it through the next hunt if they did not find food. She seemed oddly unaffected, her skin glowing with health, her hair shining silk in the dim light of the Historia Crux; she glanced at him, her lovely eyes shading into myriad tones of blue – cerulean, azure, tanzanite; Noel dizzied at that keen glance, now steady, unblinking, full of hidden promises. He found himself spinning, the Crux bleeding out of his vision and a blank white bleeding in; he hoarsely called: "Serah! I-I feel – h-help!"

She said not a word, but felt her strong little cat's paw of her hand grasp his neck as the other tenderly brushed the long shagged chestnut locks off his neck; it would have been a tender gesture of deep affectionate love, had it not been for the fact that two sharp little white teeth nipped the golden brown skin where the jugular throbbed close to the surface and began to suck and lap at the lifeblood slowly dripping out, spinning him into a deep well of blackness that opened up beyond the white haze filling his blinded eyes; he managed to gasp out "Why?" before falling down into the black well, like an obscure Alice in search of a white rabbit, but screaming inside at dying in this silent place between worlds.

He never heard the girlish giggle as she licked her fingers after sucking his veins dry: " Sis knows I never drink…wine…"


	4. Chapter 4

Gapra Whitewood was bloody awful when you were by yourself. It always felt like there were things watching you in the shade, and not kindly, like in Sunleth Waterscape. So Lightning marched on, publicly wearing her bored _I don't give a rat's ass about anything here & I have a gunsaber and know how to use it _face, but inside she was in a disquieted state of mind. She kept seeing something out of the corner of her eye ever since she got here, a flash of white, like a deer's tail when it leaps from its cover, bounding through the undergrowth and suddenly disappearing, like it had never been. She had a strong sense something was trailing her, or at least interested enough to track her scent; but the odd thing was it never gave itself away, no matter how many traps she laid, or how few times she let her eyes drift to the side of the trail. Oh, it was clever. So she idly pretended to flick her gunsaber blade when walking, the regular metallic clang the only sound of civilization within 50 miles. Too bad it was of no comfort in the cool autumn afternoon.

She normally kept in blackout mode when travelling like this, especially in these early autumn nights, where the moon could light her way, but tonight she laid a fire, she was that uneasy. She kept a careful watch beyond the fire, switching position erratically to confuse any creature watching; night sounds pressed around her as the fire died down and she grew sleepy, bracing her back against an ironwood tree, its bole sturdy enough to watch her back for a few hours. Then she would be off at dawn, tracing the old trail in the falling yellow leaves, until she made it to the other side of the forest, on the edge of New Palumpolum.

Eyes would come and go in the night just outside the circle of light thrown by the dying embers, but a pair stayed, and gave itself away by staying put; it blinked every once in a great while, the reflective layer behind the retina glowing green – not the pale intense yellow green of a feline, but a softer, cooler glow reminiscent of silvery green willow leaves, or palest glacier melt with a hint of blue in the green.

In the morning Lightning was a bit startled and more than a little grossed out at the dead rabbit left by the fire; it looked half-gnawed, its poor sad knowing eyes permanently opened in surprise; she almost made to kick it away, but changed her mind and laid it on the near dead ashes of last night's fire, handling it carefully, examining the bite marks, wondering what creature captured the swift little mammal before setting it down on the warm ash. She walked away down the path to the scent of roasting rabbit , a curiously homey scent hanging in the air. The day progressed like the previous one, and again Lightning nodded off to the crackle of the fire, counting crickets while carefully sharpening her saber edge. She awoke before dawn, a snap of the resin from a pine log jolting her awake; she thought she heard another snap in the direction of the fire, and carefully kept her face smooth, her eyelids downcast; there- she caught a glimpse of something, a bit of silver-white, a barest hint of dirty-yellow. She thumbed the safety off the gunsaber and waited; something gave the barest squeak as it gave up its life nearby, and the flat metallic smell of blood rose in the cool night air, but she kept deathly still, anticipating an attack that never came.

Morning brought a peculiar sense of déjà vu, as the fire was host to another dead rabbit, this time not gnawed, but its neck neatly broken, and the little neck vein opened to bleed it dry, ready to roast. Lightning's lips quirked before she flipped out her survival knife and swiftly gutted it, peeling back the soft brown fur and neatly tying up the carcass to hang on a stout stick over the dying ash of her campfire. _There, let's see how you like that, my unwelcome visitor. Show me your teeth, I'll show you mine._

She thought about it while she walked, and by the time the sun hit noon, she had her plan. When she made camp, she made a fire as usual, but had taken hundreds of sweetgum seed balls and strewn them around the campfire and thrown several in the fire, making a pretty blue flame that popped and spat as the resin burnt away. She put her back to a stout specimen of tree and dozed off, gunsaber in hand as usual.

A pair of pale green eyes slowly flitted nearer to the fire; it watched warily, so the large beautiful female sleeping would not wake, then it was at the edge of the firelight, the farthest it had ever been from the safe shelter of the trees. A soft fat rabbit dangled off a claw-like fingernail, then was clutched tight as the fire spat and popped another sweetgum ball. Entranced, it watched as they burnt away like a miniature fireworks display going off in the ruddy orange of the campfire coals. The rabbit dropped, forgotten, as more sweetgums were scooped up and thrown in; totally distracted the creature watched the pops time and time again, until a cool edge of a saber whistled past its ear, landing against a soft white throat.

"Gotcha." She softly said. It went beserk, ducking and rolling, furiously digging at the tree roots to escape; Lightning took a breath, then plunged her hand into the dark, grabbing cloth, then the scruff of a neck under matted filthy hair, and hauled, bracing against the tree roots and cursing as she did.

She fished out a squirming bundle of pale flesh and dirty white hair, all bloody and slinging snot everywhere; sharp little animal white teeth sparkled in the dim light snapping and gnashing as a feral growl escalated into a screeching whine, scrabbling for a foothold or handhold where it could wriggle free and escape the firm grasp of the frowning warrior. "Now that's enough!" she firmly commanded. It made a curious noise, a squeak almost like a puzzled child, then it slowly stopped fighting to get away, and began to grab at her, making mewling noises.

"No. NO. Now behave, and I'll set you down. If you don't I'll roast you over the fire, just like the rabbit…understand? "

It hung there limply like a cat, its pale green eyes luminous, curious; it licked its lips, then began to sniff loudly and interestedly. She continued, but in a gentler tone: "Look, I'm not going to hurt you, unless you try to hurt me. Do you have a name? A home? I do – I'm Lightning."

It stared back with the intensity of a thousand suns before croaking a syllable: "Ope."

"Did you bring me the rabbits? Or are you just hungry?"

It silently looked at her, uncomprehending, until its stomach answered for it, growling loudly. Lightning tilted her head, then keeping her finger on the trigger on her gunsaber, she let go of the creature and he dropped. It scuttled away, but kept just inside the edge of the firelight, which was a good sign. She threw on another branch, and set the rabbit up to roast; then she sat back to observe the creature.

It was small, a little more than 2/3rds of her height, almost elfin in appearance, painfully thin arms and legs protruding from bits of mismatched rags of clothing: long dark shorts, a jacket that was yellow beneath a good coating of dirt, a scrap of turquoise tied around its neck; in fact, everything was wearing good coat of dirt, including a shock of hair that stood out in all the directions of the wind and waved with every movement of its head. Feet were bare, but tough as oxhide. It had a human-like face with preternaturally large pale green eyes dominating its features, and a rather cute little pointed chin, which would jut out in such a resolute manner when it felt contrary.

The broken fingernails at the end of long soft-looking fingers dug into the cooked meat eagerly; even the bones were sucked dry in a small orgy of comestible bliss, then it rolled on its side, burped and dozed off, content as a cat by the warm rocks of the little firepit.

She didn't see it when she got up and resumed her journey, but it did show itself as it travelled with her, a good fifty yards to a quarter mile behind her. Things distracted it, but it somehow stayed within eyeshot. She paused midday, at a little hill, where a steaming beck tumbled down into a jewelled Etro's eye of a pool some 50 yards below. She was beginning to feel grungy after 4 days walking with no bathing facilities, so she decided to chance a dip in the pool. She carefully hid the gunsaber from nosy little fingers and stripped off her boots and belts before wading in. The water was blissfully warm, geothermally heated from a vent below the earth, just like the Sulya Springs back home. She ducked and played until she felt clean, then slowly waded back to the edge; with a gut sickening wrench, she slipped on the algae at the edge and fell back in; frustration turned to fear as she realized she could not pull her foot free. Sighing she glared, then struggled until exhausted.

The Ope creature finally noticed her in the pool, then after gibbering with a somewhat …amused…tone, it jumped in, disappearing with nary a splash.

A few moments later, she felt the rocks that trapped her foot in the spring move, letting Lightning pull it free. She hobbled onshore, white faced from the pain and flopped. It waited until she dozed off before approaching her; she awoke to the odd sensation of a healing spell, the long pale fingers glowing green in the shade; she drifted off at the soft touch, stroking her ankle, then later lurched awake at the surprise of a sharp tooth scraping her ankle bone as it avidly sucked and laved its soft pale lips on the skin of her foot, licking between the toes in an ecstasy of worship. It looked up at her through a thick tangled silk of waving argenate hair, now much whiter from the dunking in the pool; it almost looked…cute, until it smiled and started to lightly gnaw at the ankle bone again.

She lightly kicked it off, sternly addressing it: "You should ask before touching, little beast."

It rolled on the ground, giggling madly, still in an ecstasy that it had been able to worship her and not get kicked clear out the Gapra Whitewoods by a booted foot. She rose haltingly, then realized the spell had healed the break, and she visibly softened. Her husky contralto delivered two words the creature never expected: "Thank you. Yes, it did hurt, and it was…kind of you to fix it." She sighed and her tone took on the familiar ring of rejection as she looked at the path up the hill, the autumn sun beating down on the leaves, setting them aglow with golds, curries, and bronzes against the cerulean enamel of the sky: "I should be going now. I have a mission. This is goodbye, Ope…I guess."

It transformed in a trice, the little nose crinkling, lips rolling back to expose the pointed little canines, its hands hooking into claws and shrilling in a decidedly angry tone; it gave its peculiar hyena-like bark before launching itself in a leap to land near her feet, blocking her path, where it snapped with a hissing rage now; Lightning's eyes grew cold and her wrist snapped the saber edge of the gunblade out, not six inches from its face: "I said: I have to go, Ope. Back off." Her voice softened a touch as it went silent, the eyes staring fearfully at the keen blade: "There's no room on mission for..um…you. Now go away."

She slowly walked backwards for ten steps, then turned and started to climb up the hill back to the path. A howl cut through the air and stopped her dead; it was no word she could understand, but the tone was unmistakable: She knew it… _felt_ , in that dismal, pitiful cry she heard all the pain she knew: It was all the times she missed her mother, prayed for her father, the sick, gut-wrenching ache of her sister turning into crystal, the pitiful howl of a deserted child, abandoned in the middle of nowhere, missing the warmth and love it took for granted.

She slowly turned, then opened her arms and let the nasty little creature crawl into them; it buried its head into her chest and made excited little mewling noises as it snuggled in; she gasped as a small flash of pain exploded on her breast, and she fiercely grabbed a fistful of silvery locks and pulled its face off her nipple none too gently; it gave her a sly look at first, then pled with a pale green eye and a softer mewl; her shirt was stained red and she arched an eyebrow; it gave a sad little sound then touched it with a glowing finger, healing the naughty love-bite. Some unspoken communication took place between azure and leaf irids, before it slowly lowered its elfin head, lips returning to suckle the pretty pink crest of her breast, but more gently. She wrapped her arms around it firmly, letting its legs wrap around her waist and settle in for a long nap before she turned back to the path. As the bizarre Madonna and child slowly disappeared down the leaf covered path of Gapra Whitewood, a soft murmur was borne back on the autumn air: "Baby…", later answered by a giggling mewl.


	5. The Djinni In Yuel's Lamp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Dedication: For Rainwalker and her sweet soul

It was just a lamp. A primitive little _diya_ , tarnished, corroded, etched by sand and weather until it was a dull lump protruding from the windswept sands of Pulse.

Caius had idly picked it up in his endless treks , intrigued at how a marker of civilization had made it all the way in the middle of the Dead Sands. He left it in his pack until he returned, then little Yuel had found it while rummaging for any sweets in the endless pockets of the canvas bag.

She was delighted at the find, and set it up on a shelf in her room, then forgot about it for a couple of years, until the night the power generator stopped working. She had grown so used to its sleek contours, its squat, solid, unobtrusive presence that it was almost invisible. Almost. She squeaked when the lights went out and the chugging hum of the batteries dumping charge into the alternator wound down to a stop; Caius was in the next village, miles distant, still searching for an apprentice. He wouldn't be back until dawn at least, more like noon, actually. And she didn't want to stay in the dark, so she felt her way outside, started a fire in the little firepit, then carefully made a torch from a rag dipped in old motor oil, knotting the wad around an old antenna she'd repurposed just for that. Wood was getting too scarce to burn, so she conserved it when Caius was away.

She checked the generators and saw a line had shorted, up high, feeding the motorized solar panels; some damn creature had been chewing on the oily covering again and of course, the least bit of moisture, even a drop of dew would short the twisted pair of positive-negative wires bundled within. She sighed, climbed to the rooftop, and set the panels manually to catch the rising sun, then carefully made her way to the storage garage, where Caius kept spare parts and things; there was enough wire and sealant to make repairs, but she was too scared to do the repair by herself, in the dark, all alone. She settled for Caius' return tomorrow, and went back in to hunt for candles or anything she could improvise into a light source until dawn.

An old pot with a bit of hemp rope worked in the kitchen, and she flitted room to room, until she remembered the old lamp on the shelf. With light steps she hurried to her room, and pulled the remembered treasure down. She sat herself down by the little firepit humming a snatch of song while she brushed and polished the old metal; the cleaning revealed a lovely inscription in old Paddran around the teardrop shaped rim set with a dot of liquid cobalt, an exquisite sapphire, now a bit scratched, but still the perfect shade of blue. She cooed and filled it with oil, trimmed a bit of string for a wick, and lit the lamp, setting it on the table directly inside the door and admired the glow, then set about making herself some tea over the fire.

A slight wind picked up as she waited for water to boil, and it seemed a small dust demon was forming in the west, about a mile distant. It careered crazily towards the compound Yuel & Caius called home, then disappeared behind the big dune a quarter mile from her doorstep. In a bit, a figure was seen mounting the ridge of the dune, then step sliding down in typical nomad style; it was a traveler, dressed in the ubiquitous desert gear of loose pants and draped head cloth; Yuel just felt a prickle of curiosity, no seeress warnings of doom going off in her, no sensation of evil, just a sensation of timelessness, like she was…expecting a visitor that had come many times before. Besides, she had more power in her than three spell casters combined, so one nomad was no threat.

He knelt just outside the gate and gave the traditional call for hospitality in a young man's voice, a melodic tenor that fell more sweetly on her ear than Caius' gruff baritone, so she answered in kind and set out a second cup on the old tiled table on the porch.

She gaped in surprise and her heart fluttered as he slowly drew the head cloth off, to make public his face to her; it was _handsome_ , recklessly so, smooth sun-browned skin without a trace of stubble or shadow of beard to ruin the clean jawline, a delicately straight aristocratic nose that emphasized the beautifully arched brows marked with such decision, indicating the sensuous yet masculine personality that dwelled within the young Malakim; his exposed limbs displayed no roughness, no coarse hairs, and were long, straight and comely, a lean young stallion ready to race on the sands, a purebred, no hairy, flop-bellied camel or lean mangy hyena she'd seen in the villages nearby. His smile flashed innocently as he accepted her cup, and he slowly sipped, rolling the liquid over his tongue, then teasingly letting a deep rose tip run across the sweet white teeth, as if tasting the rarest of wines instead of steeped leaves and date-sugar.

Thick glossy lashes fell demurely over twin oases of eyes as he sighed pleasurably, and said: "By the god, I've not tasted tea in so long, little sheika! I thank you for your invitation. "

"My invitation?"

"Did you not? I see the lamp is lit."

"Oh. Well. The power generator line is broken. Again. It will be repaired in the morning, when I can see and be safe. Caius will be home by dusk tomorrow. "

"How is it that the man could leave such a jewel alone? I would keep you in my pocket wherever I roamed, or perhaps even hide you in my treasure chest to keep you to myself. So. What do you wish of me? A task? A favor? Bring this Caius back and make him your love-slave?"

Yuel gave an unexpected ripple of laughter at his bold words, and the wickedly joyful admiration in his sparkling eyes. She lightly flirted with him, her pretty green eyes beginning to sparkle also: "Oh, nomad, why not just fix my power so it never breaks?"

"Done. But mind you, every wish demands a price!"

He shook his head, the dark glossy silk of his hair tossing like a mane and settling over an eye as he laid his chin in an elegant hand and held his cup out for more tea. Yuel remembered she had a small stash of sweets hidden in a spice-box and jumped up to get them; no mere dates or behemoth jerky for this one; he must be a sheik's son, the very look of him told her that he was used to only one trader in the caravan: the best. As he daintily nibbled the honey nougats and sucked slowly on the spiced coconut meat, she peeped at him under her veil and was slowly struck by the fact his clothing was different; it was nomad traditional, but the patterns on the shirt were very old-fashioned, and even older was the beautiful necklace of golden discs hanging off his slim neck; she hadn't seen that design for the longest time; she recalled her grandmother wearing such a necklace, and being told it was 7 generations old, a family heirloom. Curious too, were the wrapped pants; they seemed almost a skirt, with a barely defined split and far more richly decorated with what seemed like a overflorid golden border used for weddings only; she blushed at the thought of seeing him on the wedding day, and trembled at the thought of his hand touching her on the wedding night; as if he could read her thoughts, he let his long honey brown fingers brush her pale digits while pouring the traditional 3rd cup of tea and softly asked: "Wishing for something else, little sheika?"

Still lightly trembling, she slowly nodded and faintly said; "I-I wish I knew if it will come out all right…in the end. It is hard being a seeress, nomad. So many ways actions change outcomes, like a path with too many forks. "

"Ah. What you fear is the uncertainty of life. Certainty I can give you. If you change the future, you change the past; you can remold history as your heart desires. What price would you be willing to pay for this certainty?"

"I would give my life, a thousand times need be if I knew it would be all right!"

He hid a smile behind clasped hands as his elbows rested on the little tiled table, but she could still see the corners quirking up, leaning closer; his melodic voice dropped an octave as he looked at her with lambent eyes, a fierce blue flame of desire igniting: "And you will. Now, what…else?"

She hung her head, the veil brushing the tabletop as she whispered from the bottom of her sad little heart: "I don't want to die with strangers."

The honey brown fingers caught her delicate chin and raised it, as he leaned in closer; just before those full rose lips caught hers, she caught the barest whisper: "Oh, done, with pleasure." She closed her eyes and gave into the kiss, and it was a kiss like no other; she dizzied and felt the very soul of her rise and a part be torn away somehow, sucked into the fiery maelstrom that were two lips pressing on hers, then it was gone, leaving her breathless and nauseated; her eyelids fluttered open, looking to the handsome traveler-now-swain for support.

She trembled violently and shoved at the powerful chest, stumbling away, running for the door, the room where Caius kept his weapons, his spell-books, potions, magic dust, everything, _anything_ to ward off the vile creature standing by the little firepit. She made it all of five steps before he pounced, sending her face first into the dusty black sand; she screamed as he bit down on her little leg, neatly severing a tendon, and nipping a mouthful of her flesh.

He looked down on her with a slight smile, one side drawing up a bit higher as he gently licked her blood off the corner of his mouth and slowly swallowed, as if he were savoring the taste like fresh figs with honey; she laid there and panted like trapped rabbit; his striking eyes now glowed a deep fiery ruby red as the smile widened and he ran his tongue across his teeth again before gently reminding her caressingly, gloatingly: "Sweet thy meat is, seeress. I look forward to the day you die, so that I may suck your bones. Three things you have wished, and three things I have promised. A Djinni always keeps his word, yes?"

A whirlwind blew up in the little courtyard and she buried her face in her veil, not seeing the Djinni slowly dissolve into a sparkling sand, melding with the dust devil and crazily careering away over the moonlit dunes.

She awoke in the dawn lying on the doorstep, weak and puzzled, wondering if it were a mad dream or a vision that she'd had. However, upon rising she felt a weakness in her she never had before, and her leg screamed in agony; she could do no more than limp to her bed and collapse.

In the centuries that passed, she became bitterly intimate with the Djinni's fulfillment of her idle wishes: The damned power generator never broke down again and its creaking machinery never ceased to haunt her empty nights on the edge of the Paddran desert. She reincarnated a thousand times, each weaker than the last, until the resurrection came that foretold that she would not live beyond her fifteenth year. In that last glorious rebirth, Paddra Nsu Yuel finally understood the patience of the Djinni: On her fourteenth birthday, Caius announced: "I have found my apprentice at last, Yuel. Please meet Noel Kreiss."

A shadow fell across her as she looked up from the shrine; a shiver of recognition passed over her as her eyes caught a pair of wrapped skirt-like pants with an extravagant floral border, then drained of all emotion, she silently met the intense cobalt eyes of the creature who would be her guardian.

"Please allow me to introduce myself…I am man of wealth...and taste."


	6. Wicked Sensation

"Fang? How the Chaos didja get THAT nickname? Didja bite someone?"

"Stick yer arm out and see, Snow!"

The big male obliged, teasingly shaking it, then yelping as a set of pretty white teeth caught a finger; the group snickered, then went back to their respective tasks and pleasures around the campfire. Vanille's emerald eyes darkened and Fang's glance met hers; an unspoken thought crossed their faces and then Fang stretched lazily, extending her long legs out with a graceful attitude before flipping over and walking down the path to the spring.

She felt restless tonight, and hoped Vanille would follow her soon. She was falling for her all over again, out here in the wilds of Pulse and really wanted to be alone with her, and her alone. Vanille did not show by moonrise, so she walked back and threw herself on her bedroll to sleep. Later, she felt Vanille curling up next to her, and contentedly she drew her arm over her waist and held it there as they peacefully slumbered.

"Why didn't you come last night?" Fang idly inquired as they jogged down the deserted trail, a mile ahead of the group, lookout scouts for the day; the usually got this duty, as no one could track like the Oerbans; they would laugh and shrug, saying they were simply closer to nature than the Cocoonians.

"Hope was following me everywhere – " She made an impatient sound, continuing: " I swear I can't decide what is worse: a boy with a crush, or a boy who thinks he's in love!"

"Yeh, emerald eyes, what choice, eh? -Helpless in bed or hopeless at love!" Fang shot back, making Vanille giggle; she liked it when she laughed, it warmed her heart. But it did not warm her to know that little pasty faced horny little wretch was sniffing around her girl's skirt; a flash of jealousy fed her mood for the rest of the day, and when Hope slunk off behind Vanille after she made the trek downhill to the little stream near the encampment at dusk, the feeling of hot rage bubbled up.

_Oh no_ she thought; _I shouldn't have let that happen,_ as an all too familiar feeling rippled in her. _I've got that wicked sensation again…_

_I'm on the inside, I wanna get out…that little shit, Oh Etro, no NO, not now..._ she glimpsed the moon through the treeline, a rising warm golden girl that would cool to silver... _Cool. Stay cool, yes, that's it cool your anger, be as cool as the moon, don't give in…_

But it was too much, so the world tilted off its axis as she fell to the ground frothing and growling; the tall body contorted and spasmed oddly, as if something was indeed trying to claw its way out; then a low sound neither Pulsian or animal erupted from the writhing tortured being on the ground. There was no going back now; teeth, long and white erupted, legs disjointed and knees became hocks, vertebrae cracked and realigned with a hideous intensity and the sweetly beautiful face metamorphosed into an animal, long whiskers sprouted and extending with rapid speed; skin began to rip and tear and muscles bunched and swelled, then what was inside exploded and leapt, shedding the mortal shell that caged it; a dark velvety creature lashed its tail, then disappeared quick as a witches familiar in the forest.

A low purr rose from the undergrowth and a dark shadow prowled, only a bare glimpse of tail and glowing retinas in dusk visible. Hope stood stock still on the trail, his eyes darting frantically until it leaped, an ebony brick wall of muscle and sinew careering in space to break the back of its prey; somehow it twisted, landing with an earthshaking thump less than a foot away, its paw with six inch claws raised to deal the death blow; shockingly it stopped, the paw shaking, claws extending and retracting as it somehow held itself back. Hope's eyes, big as saucers, simply looked back at the enormous black panther blanching at the predatory eyes, blazing sapphire hatred for an eternity of fear. It suddenly roared in his face, exposing brilliant white fangs and blasting him with its hot breath; then just as suddenly it was gone, melting back into the undergrowth as if it were a dream or beautiful nightmare.

"So you gonna tell us how you got to be named after a tooth, sweet thang? Didja, you know, leave a love bite or snag one of those pretty pearls on some big boy, huh? I'd even volunteer for a demo, ya know! " Snow chortled over his liquor at the campfire.

"Shut up, Snow, Just _shut UP_!" A white faced Hope muttered under his breath, huddling as close to Lightning as he could get, not even looking up at the little gathering, especially avoiding Vanille  & Fang.

Said pair looked at each other, emerald against sapphire, a brief flash of wicked amusement underlaid with the eerie greenish glow of a retina that went unnoticed in the gathering dusk ; Fang smiled, or more like grinned, and the pair turned to Snow, gazing innocently and interestedly like a pair of naughty kittens as Fang purred her reply: "Sure, Snow, why not? …I'm all appetite."


	7. The Lost Boys Of New Bodhum

It was Noel's first Friday night in New Bodhum, he'd just moved here after his mom and dad divorced; his mom grew up here, so she started over, trying to put a cheerful face on things for her son, who moodily disdained the fact they were officially poor now, since dad's lawyers really worked the legal system over, leaving them precious little cash and a 7 day notice to vacate the Kreiss mansion, as the rightful owner decided they were squatters and no longer welcome.

He wandered the boardwalk, pretty things glittered and glowed under the flare of the torches, but he would have none of it; he was a poor boy now, and all he had was the riding leathers he had on and his velocycle, a ratter he'd built himself from the ground up. He'd romantically named it the nomad, and had the name embroidered on his jacket, not that anyone cared. He was still new to poverty, and still was dreaming he could be somebody, fall in love and live happily ever after.

He heard music and started to walk faster towards it; a free concert was sure to attract pretty girls, and he really wanted to meet New Bodhum's best. His path was suddenly crossed by a group of 'cycles, daringly spinning down the boardwalk, sending pedestrians running; the small gang carelessly laughed and whooped as they spun their 'cycles hard right and rode down the steps to the sand, spewing it in everyone's faces, Noel included. But not before he saw two tanzanite eyes and a cascade of ice pink hair looking back at him, wickedly grinning, yet innocently concerned if he were hurt.

He followed, lost them in the concert crowd, and disappointed he watched the show, then moodily strode back along the boardwalk, hands shoved in pockets, letting the ocean breeze ruffle his fashionably choppy hair.

The purr of a 7500 Shiva Sisters twin V starting woke him from his mental snit, and he slowed as he took in the little gang on the edge of the boardwalk; his footsteps halted when they rolled forward blocking the walkway and grinned at him.

He eyed them askance, a little astounded at the motley crew and colorful garb; most gangs back in his neck of the woods wore matching clothing; the garb was all over the place, from long rebel-style duster overcoats to saris to techno-pop yellow designer jackets; the weaponry hanging off the cycles was odd, too – a lance, a boomerang, even a stargazer bow hanging from the pretty gem-eyed girl's back. He always had a sword, a custom gladius with a rather flashy double bladed greatsword that jacketed the simpler blade, which he found handy when the going got rough.

The little assembly before him smirked at his ratter, but the leader, a big surfer blonde with ice blue eyes quelled them all with a look that was almost venomous; his pretty passenger shifted in the seat, and peeped out behind a massive shoulder and smiled shyly. However, the group remained silent as he swung a leg over and sat; their eyes were all hungry, staring at him like he was a good steak; a bit irritated he broke the silence with a noncommittal: "What's goin' on?" and feeling for the knife sheath tucked behind his back under the loose jacket.

The leader spoke, in a cultured smooth voice that belied his rough surfer boy looks: "Noel wants to know what's going on. Gadot, what's goin' on?"

The hulking 80's throwback with neon orange hair in a spiky mohawk slyly answered: "I dunno – what's goin' on, Fang?"

Said creature smiled too sweetly, a wicked sparkle in her sapphire-green eyes and replied with a Outback Gran Pulse accent: "Wait a minute. Who wants to know, Snow?"

Snow smiled, his ice blue eyes sparkling also: "Noel. Noel Kreiss."

"Wanna go for a ride with us, Noel?" Piped a silver melody of a voice – the pretty girl sitting behind Snow leaned farther out, her side ponytail dangling. "We're the L'Cie of New Bodhum. You're part of the Nomads, huh? Must be a small club. We never heard of 'em."

Mesmerized by her lovely face and relaxing at her soothing voice, Noel found himself nodding and kicked over the ratter; the gang whooped and they all spun out with a roar, down the boardwalk , scattering tourists and couples with a wicked glee.

It was a wicked good ride, too, plenty of twists and hairpin turns all done a breathtaking speed he enjoyed; Snow pulled beside him on a long straightaway and held out a bottle, grinning in a far more friendlier manner; challenging, as all young males do, but still friendly. Noel grabbed it and chugged a quick belt and passed it back, then whooped a bit himself; it was Friday night, and he was feeling alright. New Bodhum might not be such a dump after all, when company like this was to be had. The ride careered off the road across a field, where cliffs overhung the ocean; they all raced crazily for the edge, not a one stopping, but gunning their 'cycle motors to the max; Noel's eyes went wide as he heard the surf pounding below and the speed at which they approached; yet driven by Snow's silent challenge he could not stop hurtling for the edge; just when he thought he'd have to turn and drop his 'cycle, admitting defeat in the insane game of chicken, the little silver haired boy who'd been hanging onto a redhead riding a Bahamut lost his turquoise scarf in the wind and it slapped Noel in the face, blinding him. he dropped the bike and went down hard in a squeal of brakes and dirt; when he finally sat up and dragged the cloth off his face and cursing, the taillights were far away; he started walking forward and nearly screamed as his right foot met empty space; he fell back and rolled, then carefully got up and peered over the edge of the cliff, seeing nothing but a spray of phosphorescent surf 200 feet below. _How the hell did they do that?_ He wondered.

Dawn came with a blinding intensity and he reached for his pillow, throwing over his head; he slept for a good 3 hours more, then hungry, he decided to get up and eat, then see what kind of a mess he'd made of his 'cycle. The sun felt like it was scalding his eyes, so he grabbed his favorite sunglasses and headed to the kitchen like he was, dusty leather jeans, his cool tribal necklace of gold discs and braided cord and the ray-bans, hair sticking up in odd places.

His mom was at work, so he fumbled in the 'fridge and managed to find juice; he belted it straight from the carton, like any Pulsian young male full of hormones would do, burping just because he could. Two minutes later, he was retching violently into the kitchen trash can.

He unsteadily threw on shirt and shoes after a serious attempt to clean up, and rode into town, his stomach still churning; he decided to look for the free clinic and began walking slowly down the main strip. He noticed a woman with rose hair stapling something on the public notice bulletin board; it reminded him of the pretty girl on Snow's velocycle – Serah – and he hurried to catch up with her, but she disappeared down an alley by the time he got to the bulletin board. He glanced at the board and froze, as Serah's face smiled back at him with the caption MISSING; he yanked the slick paper off and stuffed it in a pocket, then was distracted by the Clinic sign two blocks up. He took a seat in the crowded waiting room and drifted off to the sounds of a busy medical office.

He awoke when a foot nudged him; he cracked an eyelid and saw a small foot in too big sneakers, then a soft voice saying:" .hey…" he lifted the ray-bans and winced at the bright sunlight lancing in between the blinds and was puzzled to see the kid from the gang sitting by him, messy silver locks falling over his face, like he wanted to hide from everything.

"Don't look at me, dude. I'm not s'posed to be here. I get hungry. They think I got anemia, so they give me plasma, or whole blood. That's the only thing I can eat, dude. And that's what's gpnna happen to you too. You drank from Snow's bottle. You're gonna go through the change, and be just like they are, the L'Cie. Dude, get outta here. Serah said so. You gotta leave."

"What the Chaos makes you think I'm gonna believe you? Hope, right? Dude, that was some weird ride last night. What kind of change are you talking about? And what's Serah got to do with it?"

"Noel…Snow wants you in his club, man. He wants Serah and me bad, too. You were supposed to be Serah's first, ya know? It was initiation night. But she told me to what to do, so I did it. The scarf, ya know? And if you leave, you might not turn all the way, like the rest of 'em are. Serah's nice. She keeps Snow an' Gadot off my back. I think she likes you. She said you were cute."

"So what was her initiation, little man?" Noel fought to keep amusement out of his voice at Hope's eager chatter.

"She was gonna kill you, Noel. Then Snow was gonna make you undead. A vampire. And she was gonna be Snow's vampire queen or somethin' jacked up like that. Guess Vanille and Fang and Lebreau didn't cut it for him."

"Yup that IS jacked up. Man….mom is gonna kill me if she finds out about this. Ok. Dude. Show me the money. How can you prove this gang is all….undead vampires?"

Hope jumped up and grabbed his arm, excited:" I know where they sleep in the day, C'mon, let's go and rescue Serah! And run like hell!"

Noel figured why the baste not, his day was already shot to Chaos. Most likely they were all junkies playing at gothika and sleeping it off. He followed Hope out, and let him guide him to a small roadside, riding shotgun on the ratter. He walked him carefully to the side and pointed out a small black dot on the Cliffside below; it took a good ten minutes to make their way down the steep slope and scramble into the dark corridor of cold stone. Hope slapped a hand over Noel's mouth and pointed upward; Noel felt the ground plummet into the depths of Chaos as he saw the L'Cie hanging from the roof, clustered like bats and peacefully sleeping – the kid hadn't lied one bit. He was on the list to be initiated to be undead, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Where's Serah?" He mouthed to the teen, and followed Hope's lead farther in the little cavern; she was asleep in huddle under a pile of random shawls and blankets; he picked her up and began to carry her out, intending to rescue her. He was stopped by a stinging bite in his neck and he couldn't help himself, he moaned, and tore her off of him, and began to run with her to the sunlight. At least he knew he could take sunlight. It was too late – he heard the chuckle of Snow's tenor resound and the hiss of the remaining Fal'Cie awakening at the sound. He threw Serah outside with a blanket on her and drew his sword, intending to make his stand, but a curious thing happened.

A velocycle's roar shook the little cavern and a set of super-photo-voltaic halogens snapped on, flooding the fissure with light; a slim figure leapt off the seat, and became an army of one, hacking and slashing through the undead L'Cie, stabbing each one through the heart & neatly decapitating their heads; Beautiful blonde Snow was the last to go down, screaming in rage, then later in fear: "Don't take my head, sister! I was going to marry her!"

"Don't ever call me sister, you undead sonuvabitch!"

A gunsaber plunged through Snow's chest, then the blade swept up and caught the neck neatly; then the last L'Cie fell, now truly dead.

As she calmly pulled her blazefire gunsaber out of the crumbling remains, The rose haired woman shrugged and calmly commented to Noel, standing there bewildered: "One thing about living in New Bodhum I never could stomach, all the damn vampires."


	8. Le Loup-Garou Lebreau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: It was too much to resist after listening to the entire album Bat Out Of Hell by Meatloaf; please give full credit to the artist for the lyrics. Naughty Muse. Naughty.

_A whisper, low and sultry, rasping in its intensity, cut through the dark: "Would you be my sister, my ever-loving sister of the moon, tonight?"_

" _Yes."_

_A savage growl filled her ears and she shivered with pleasure, anticipating a very long and pleasurable night; but quite conversely, a lean maw opened and savagely bit into a pretty sun-browned shoulder instead of kissing it; she struggled against the huge hand gagging her and fell in a tumble of silky dark hair and aubergine velvet. A hyena's skittering laugh quietly reverberated in the little bedroom as the creature twitched its garments fastidiously back into place before it snidely, softly added: " I bet you say that to all the boys…"_

_A hand buried a long silver hair pin in up to the pretty ornament with the hissed retort: "You took the words right out my mouth…" Later, as a chest was jumped on to jam the lock closed, a snide reply was thrown at the contents inside:"…And I was just about to say I love you…"_

"I'm gypsy, you're nomad, so we're the same, no?"

_No, we're not, lady. I respect myself._

The brunette looked at her customer in the bar mirror, watching him slowly sip his non-alcoholic beverage down, as his eyes flicked over her back view; she knew she was built nicely, and the short skirt showed off her legs and trim hips. She smiled to herself, thinking she was getting somewhere with him at last, and leaned over into the ice bin just a tad lower than necessary, so the hem of the short skirt rose just above her lovely derriere.

She'd been crushing on the desert boy for quite some time now, and every time he came to visit Serah and Snow, she'd unfold her beauty like a butterfly and flit about him; she figured since Serah was now married to Snow, Noel Kreiss was no longer chasing Serah's skirts, and he was fair game.

Of course, she blithely forgot him when he was away and dated more than few of New Bodhum's best, but nothing ever came from her _affaires du tendre_ with the local boys. So she kept her bar open late, bringing in new acts, the latest intoxicants, and providing a bit of color, as she liked to call it, to New Bodhum's sedate nightlife.

He finally answered tactfully: "Lovely Lebreau, we are all travelers on the same road! Speaking of, I must get to the Villier's by sunset; perhaps they'll feel like coming back later tonight, or tomorrow evening with me. Catch up with you then!"

He hurried to the house in the red light of the setting sun, so the young couple would not worry over him; this summer had been quite frightening for the staid, sleepy town, as a rise in deaths had played on the minds of the residents. It wasn't that were deaths, it was the manner of them, and the fact that they were all men…no women, no children, no elderly, the usual victims of the predatory creatures of Gran Pulse, whether upright bipedal or not. Good, strong men, able to defend themselves went missing, then were found dead, and thoroughly mauled, entrails eaten, even dismembered. Rumors were rife, anything from a new breed of monster, to serial killers, to treasonous conspiracies against the government, with secret societies that carried out executions.

Lebreau, always the pragmatist, simply would reply: "Yeah? Well, worrying about it won't make you live a day longer!" She seemed unaffected by the slow rising terror the townspeople felt, and after the minister of the B'nai Bhunivelze Temple led a prayer vigil asking to be forgiven of any sins that might have brought down this evil on themselves, she broke into peals of laughter and began to dance. Puzzled and aghast the minister almost screamed: "But what are you doing, woman?!" She saucily replied "If I'm going to die and go to Chaos tomorrow, I may as well get one good dance in! "

She went off the rails that night, threw open her doors, and poured her liquor for a mere Gil per gulp, then got up and danced on the bar, ending with a wolf's howl; of course, the craziness worked, and her little bar was packed every Friday & Saturday night; there were just some folks who agreed that spitting in the eye of what devilled them was appropriate, and soon the place was rocking every night.

Tonight, everyone at Lebreau's bar was gossiping about another body found in the forest that Saturday night; the poor drunken sod had been drinking all day, ever since the game was won by the New Bodhum Blitzers, so no one thought much of it when he never showed up to pick his children up in the morning from the ex-wife. Speculation ran high, everyone had their own theory, and everyone started to get that tone in their voice, that subtle little quaking tremor that could swing into mass hysteria with the right prod; and prodding is exactly what Lebreau did.

She scrolled thru a list of song titles, then tapped play: the crazy laughter of Ozzy Osbourne poured from the speakers as the old-fashioned tune of 'Bark at the Moon' fell across stunned ears, then everyone went wild and whooped, downing drinks and leaping about in a frenzy.

It was another crazy night at Lebreau's and everybody blew off steam; she kept the music coming, and poured drinks with funky names like Hair of the Dog, Cosmic Chaos, Wolfbane Whizzers, or Silver Bullet Shots, a lethal mix of 3 white liquors that was guaranteed to knock over even the most hardened drinker after six shots.

Noel ducked a handful of flying silver bullet shot glasses that a party of six had downed near the stage and thrown up in the air as they started to bark and howl with the music, and grinned at Snow & Serah, despite the rain of liquor; he never drank alcohol, as he was a nomad hunter again, and said it would dull his senses, especially scent and taste. Snow grinned back and chuckled, remembering how Noel's eyes couldn't keep off Serah's sister, who was now thrashing her head in time with the beat as the music changed, delivering a punch of deep throbbing bass and thundering drums by another old classic by Rob Zombie. _More like you want to make a nice boy impression on Sis, but I think Hope's beat you to it, you moron. Man, he seems so clueless about women, even after Lebreau and 3 other cuties here threw themselves at him! Oh well, what Etro takes away with one hand she gives with the other – he's done a damn fine job of tracking the killer the past 3 days; he's one sharp tracker. I hope those traps he set work!_

The truth was, Noel was quite aware Lebreau and the three young women found him attractive and the clueless act was deliberate; he was the hunter tonight, and he knew with the fine-tuned instinct, honed by the daily discipline of no liquor, no smoking, and the old rule of no meat for seven days before a hunt, he could track anything; and that is just why he was here: to track, to hunt, and to kill. Pretty girls and partying were the cover. All he had to do is wait and let his prey be flushed tonight, and it would be tonight; the signs were there. He'd traced a clean wild scent right up to the door of Lebreau's establishment the first day and knew the killer was definitely Pulsian humanoid, or had the capability of taking the shape of one. He simply kept alert for anything that didn't seem quite in place; some action, some gesture, that small out-of-step occurrence that exposed the true nature of what was beneath the skin.

Sazh and his son had helped him set the traps up; Dajh was growing into a fine young man, and his proud father was ready to send him to the nomads next summer to start learning the art of hunting; he loved Serah's school, but knew he was not for Academia, and had already decided to go traditional. They were not at the bar, but waiting in the dark by one of the two traps set in the forest. The scene was set, all was ready, all that was needed was the star performer.

Snow ordered another round of silver bullets and juice for Noel and thought about the evil that had slipped into the little town: He'd thought it was just a new monster that hadn't been cataloged by Academia yet; the first body they'd found was simply dismembered; no one paid any attention to the fact a kill site was never found; it took 6 more killings and Serah's sharp eyes before they realized every dead body was a male in his prime and that nobody had ever found exactly where they had died; the authorities had overlooked there was a pattern to the killings.

It was getting near midnight, and still nothing seemed to trip Noel's instincts, or tempt the killer. Lebreau was hanging on Noel, her pretty eyes lingering on his lean form, leaning over the bar to show off her tanned cleavage set off by the off the shoulder white shirt, as she poured her Gran Pulier cognac for a pickled oldster sitting next to Noel all night, who muttered in his drink, then would watch the door with a rheumy eye. He snorted happily at the generous shot, toasted his toothsome hostess and wheezily laughed: "Eh, eet iz a goot neeght, mon Cherie Le'Loup Garou! Perrrhops zee last we see of such keellings, yiss? One hundred days, today!"

Lebeau's eyes flashed and she flatly stated: "One hundred and one. It's one hundred and ONE."

Something about the tone made the hairs raise on the back of Noel's neck. He stayed absolutely still, a friendly smile on his face, listening to one of Snow's long-winded jokes, then laughed heartily. But inside, he was alive, juices running in his mouth, hungry for the hunt. He forced himself to turn, smile at the sexy bartender, lean over and place a hand on her bare shoulder before saying in a low, sexy growl: "You'd better quit jangling those jewels over the bar at me before I do you on the bar in front of your patrons…or was that the idea?"

"Have you got the sand, Nomad?" Her eyes were pure devilment and she leaned farther over, letting her assets dangle precariously close to exposure.

He leaned in and ran a finger over the generous swell as he dropped his voice an octave: "I have a whole desert of sand for a wench like you."

There seemed to be a pause in the insanity of the atmosphere as she looked up at him under lowered eyelids, the irids flashing dark and empty like soulless black moons ; he couldn't quite understand how she did it without him hearing her footsteps, but somehow she'd sidled up closer than close to him, laying a finger on the gold necklace he always wore; he focused on the mirror behind the bar to keep still and not shudder at the black widow spider's legs in the form of tanned manicured fingers carefully crawling up his neck and playing with his hair. He almost missed it in the noise of the bar, but he heard a breath of a question rise from the very nadir of her throat: "Would you be my brother, my ever-loving brother of the moon, tonight?"

The lean hunter smiled lazily: "Maybe I'll come back after closing and play. But don't expect me to stay. It can only be one thing between us, you know." He chucked her under the chin, turned to Lightning, and began to flirt with her; she caught on immediately, seeing Lebreau's open-mouthed gape and smiled charmingly at the young man, allowing him to lead her onto the small dance floor and be pulled into a slow romantic turn about the room.

Of course, neither was foolishly romantic; Lightning was just as much of a killing machine as Noel was, so they ably pulled off the act of budding attraction together. She was smart enough to understand Noel had found his off-step and was a trigger ready to fire.

"You know, there's something about you when you are psyched for the hunt, little brother, that is just sooo sexy!" she gently teased. He wickedly teased back: "I've yet to find a hunting partner, Light…be careful of what you say before I go tribal on you! But then, I may be a bit… _old_ for you, yes?" She had the grace to blush then quietly said: "He's almost old enough. It amazes me he is still in love with me after all this time. So I wait, patiently – he's so worth it. – SO…what set you off?"

"Tell me, what is Loup-Garou? What legends? "

"That's an old one… The word 'Loup' is an Old Bodhum word that means wolf and 'Garou' is an even older word – roughly means man like a wolf, or the wolf on two legs. A nickname for them by the kids is the man in a grey suit. It's a legend of a Pulsian who changes into a wolf at their own will. It's in the blood; some are, well, shape-shifters, and there has to be some trauma or blood spilled for a change to happen. Some say that when a person comes into contact with a Loup Garou and sheds the blood of the beast, or is bitten the Loup Garou will then change back to its human form. The victim becomes a Loup Garou for one hundred and one days. If the victim speaks of the encounter to anyone, they become a Loup Garou for all time themselves. But if they remain quiet about it, they will return to their human form and continue on with their lives."

"The old man said something to Lebreau about a hundred days. Then she corrected him - I thought it odd. Can you play along for bit longer with me? I think I need to be a trauma tonight."

She nodded, and helped the young man be the romantic, polite swain trying for her affection over the course of the next hour and a half; he danced twice more, bought her ice pink roses from the flirty flower sellers that wandered the bars with baskets of blooms; he asked Lebreau to bring out some pink champagne, pouring her glass after glass, presenting each one with a line of desert love poetry, letting his fingers linger on her in full sight of everyone and painted the perfect picture of a young love-smitten man wooing a pretty woman on a Saturday night. He ended the night by playfully taking her picture with him crushed to his chest on his cell, then sent it to Snow & Serah, with a private text that made them smirk knowingly and leave. Lightning left with them, Noel opening the door for her and staring after them for some minutes, as if enchanted. Then he turned to the bar, leaned on it and slid his guestroom key at Lebreau with a naughty glint in his eye: "If you want to know exactly how much sand is in my desert tonight, drop on by, you have an open invitation!"

He could feel the eyes boring holes in his back as he shut the door of the bar and took three measured breaths before stepping on the road to leave his own trail, or chum line, as his old teacher would say. He idly rambled through the glades in the moonlight, until his preternatural senses, keyed up, felt…something. A velvet footpad crunching on a dry leaf, or maybe a soft snuffing of the crisp fall air; it mattered not. He ever so carefully turned to the shortcut through the deeper forest that led to the back of the large guest house; it was closer, but still padding silently, its faint scent, clean and grassy, barely discernible, mixed in with the dying flora of the forest; he paused to admire the moon, while his back crawled; then as if to taunt the creature tracking him, he pulled his cell out and admired the photo of Lightning.

A low soft growl rolled across the glade, and he acted as if he was startled, then snapping the phone shut, suddenly took off running down the path; he was a lean cheetah of the desert, built for speed, and gave good chase to the snarling panting beast behind him; he could smell its scent far more strongly now, overlaid with the stale blood tainted breath and tang of wolf-spoor; he pushed himself, gasping and sprinted another 200 yards, lightly veering to the left of the path through drifts of crackling leaves. He threw himself into a long dive and lay there panting heavily, hearing it race the final 20 or so yards between them, running on all fours.

Then a strangled yelp filled the night as the very ground gave way under the weight of the creature; too heavy for a wolf, but light enough for one young man, it crashed through a camouflaged forest floor into the pit below with a raging howl, cut short with a soft thwang and thud of a cross bow bolt shooting home and finding its mark.

They buried her with her secret intact, after being stunned at discovering the body of the pretty bartender lying at the bottom of the pit, and not the huge wolf they swore they'd seen. The duo of Sazh and Dajh were also stunned to see a white-faced Noel walking back to them, visibly shaken at what he found in the bedroom of the now-dead pretty girl; he refused to say exactly what, choking he'd make sure it was burned, gripping the elder man's arm with a white knuckled hand. But even a roaring bonfire and ten years of hunts never stopped the hackles from rising on his back every time he heard a wolf howl, or when the moon was full: _Would you be my brother, my ever loving brother of the moon?_


	9. Dr. Cauis And Mr. Ballad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Please allow full credit for the author Robert Louis Stevenson for the marvelously sinister story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; also some lyrics from Emerson, Lake & Palmer's Karn Evil 9 3rd Impression were lifted, after providing some aural entertainment while writing this chapter. As always, the stories are written for pure amusement with no intent of profit or gain.

"Did you ever notice that door?"

Said specimen was an oddity in the ancient lovely street in Upper Paddra; clearly deserted, it was dusty, unkept and paint was beginning to peel from the stout wood, which looked as if it had been used as a practice post for a gunsaber or two. Dead leaves were heaped untidily about the stoop and it seemed somehow cursed under the air of neglect.

"Yes, sister; it is connected in my mind with a very odd story. Do you remember when I was in Valhalla ? And I told you about Caius?"

Serah caught her breath and her eyes darkened to amethyst as she recalled The guardian of Yuel she had encountered in her travels.

"I found out that was where he lived before he became a guardian. He was known as Doctor Caius – the repository of records had a file on him. He…changed."

"Oh! Tell me more, sister!"

"Well, it was this way; things were not always thus with him…"

Purple hair hung in the eyes of a man immaculately clad in doctor's scrubs and lab coat; he absent-mindedly flicked it out of the way as he continued to observe the activity in the microscope.

He smiled pensively, his deep eyes flashing tyrian as he rapidly took notes in shorthand, never taking his eyes from the fascinating microcosm unfolding before his gaze. His face was noble, and surprisingly sensitive; he was known as a gentleman, and generous to a fault with his indigent cases.

A pipette in the long fingers teased a bare sample from the petri dish and dropped it in the synthesizer and set the mechanism to create a 500 milliliter batch overnight before flicking a light switch off and quietly exiting the top floor laboratory. The stairs two flights down opened into a lovely flat, with a wide balcony, and was furnished with all of the cultured things any civilized Paddran enjoyed in that long lost gracious era. A precisely measured glass of well aged brandy was slowly poured and relished as the handsome doctor sat on his gracious airy balcony, listening to a very civilized Paddran opera as he opened his mail, one lovely parchment roll at a time, none of those new fangled flat folded things called envelopes for him, no thank you, sir.

One in particular was read, the re-read and left nerveless fingers to drift softly to the floor, followed by even softer sobbing. It was too bad he was a bachelor, a calming hand and cheerful smile would have dispelled his fears, and perhaps he could have faced the news that the mail brought with a better sense of proportion; but the complex sensitive man had no kind friend or acquaintance to help reduce the mountain in his mind back into the gentle foot hill.

A delicately flourished hand had written:

_In accordance with the edicts of Etro and the Farseer guiding principles, the guardian of the seeress has reached the age of majority and is voluntarily stepping down from the illustrious post._

_The replacement candidates are chosen by genetic match and by the testing as deigned by the seeress Paddra Nsu Yuel herself._

_Congratulations, you are match number 13 as chosen by the genome matching program of the temple. Please report to the temple with this missive on 31_ _st_ _October._

Caius was beside himself; what would happen to his patients? His career as a healer, his research on rare plants on Gran Pulse? His quiet little flat, his cat Toby? How could he ever be a fierce guardian of a seeress, girt with weapons, and ready to kill at the blink of an eye? He couldn't even bring himself to trap a rat, much less hack off a head of a demon! He was a simple doctor, a peaceful healer of the sick, not a killer! Even a vegetarian, for Etro's sake!

He thought if he'd ever have to kill, he'd go mad from it…if there were only a way to kill in the name of good and not feel the pain of a living thing dying. Could it be compartmentalized, minimized, trivialized? No, not for him; he'd have to split into two. The nervously tapping hand slowed as he thought of the experiment he was running: _Well…why not? If I can split a cell, why can't I split a brain?_

3 days later, he'd synthesized a serum and was eyeing it somberly in the gloomy afternoon; it was threatening rain and the autumn leaves chased each other chattering in a secret language that bespoke of unknown excitements. _Dare I take it? Or do I leave it be?_ Sighing, he walked around the little table it sat on, his reflection distorting in the curved glass apothecary jar that held the faintly glittering liquid and further mused: _If the experiment fails, at least there are my lab notes and the formula…I should name it, so it can be patented later…hmmm…Caius' Chaos? More like the chaos Etro places in all our hearts at the unknown…ah! That's it: Etro's Heart._ He wrote the words in a delicately elegant hand on a label, and carefully slid it in the little metal display on the side of the bell-like curve of the glass.

He sat himself comfortably in his favorite chair by the fireplace and poured a draught of Etro's Heart into his finest crystal brandy glass, then tilted his head and let it slide down his throat; then he sat and waited.

The next memory was of the gentle rays of sunrise playing on his face; puzzled, he looked at the clock by his bedside and noted the hour of 6:10 AM, and wondered how he got there; he felt remarkably…well, and stretched pleasurably, enjoying the sensuous feel of the silk sheets against his skin. Alarmed, he looked down at himself; he never felt the silk of the sheets, as he wore night clothes, like any civilized Paddran. A bit shocked, he realized he was nude under the covers; he bolted from bed in shame, but was caught by the accusing eye of the tall mirror by his dressing room, flash of warm olive skin and black-purple hair; a deep stain of red mounted to his face and his heart plummeted in fear as he took in the stains, marks and lovebites that teased him with the mystery of where he'd been, obviously an amorous, nay, an outright lustful evening of debauchery! Almost sickened at the defilement of his body, his stomach began to heave; the horrified gaze dropped, but not before he saw his feet: Dirty, almost black with dirt, splashed up to the ankles with putrid bits of…flesh, intestinal matter, and drying blood. The heave turned nauseous, and he stumbled into the toilet and retched pitifully.

As he lay there later, his head on the cool white porcelain, gripping the bowl with knuckles almost as white, did he hear a soft voice speak in the little room: "For Etro's sake, you sodding pussy, get up. Get the baste up. It's not like you killed yer mum. She were just a whore. And she was a tight one!"

Caius shook his head and managed to croak from his bitter tasting mouth: "What- Who are you? "

"There ya go man! Keep as cool as yer can, because the heat, the heat's all reet, let's all rumba to da sexy beat…now get the baste up and get rid of that shite before the tight assed housekeeper smells it and starts asking questions!"

He slowly staggered to his feet, a bit lightheaded, and turned about: "Where-where are you?"

"Right here, behind you, sirrah."

Caius turned and came face to face with his bathroom mirror, but it wasn't his face staring back at him, it was a lean hungry hyena, a lustful grin on his lips that enjoyed the sight of the naked man covered in the remains of a very violent, yet satisfying evening.

"Why, it's about time we met, Doctor Caius; allow me to introduce meself…Mistah Ballad, at yer service. Don't you know, we is mates for life, you lucky sod!"

He screeched and punched the mirror with his elegant long hands until he was bleeding and the silvered glass was nothing but shards.

He cleaned the mess before his housekeeper came in, burning the clothes and sheets in the fireplace. He refused to look at the apothecary jar or go near the lab after he'd read the news and found the little back page article announcing a prostitute had been found dead in a chocobo stable, apparently trampled to death by the creatures. The next 15 days bled into each other, and he regained his confidence in himself; he found himself writing his notes on the experiment and its failure. He rolled a mouthful of brandy around his savoring tongue and held the amber liquid in the firelight to observe its color; a faint sparkle caught his eye, but he put it down to his emotional state; tomorrow he was going to the temple for his appointment; perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, after all he was the thirteenth best match.

"Ohhh, heyyy…lucky thirteen, are we, mate?"

Dr. Caius blanched at the soft snide voice with its rough burr. "Go away. You're not real. And I destroyed the Etro's Heart."

"Play too rough for yeh, eh, sirrah? Nah, nah, ye cannae lie to me, dear Dr. Caius…it what you wanted; you did not make Etro's Heart ta destroy yer dark side; ye made it so ye could do what yer wanted without feelin' da guilt of it, ye wanted no besmirching of yer good name. Ye absolutely intended me ta live. And there's no worryin' about _punishment_ for playing God. You know Mr. Ballad is yer _reward_ , no?"

"You cannot exist! I destroyed the potion!"

"Oh? Did yer think to check yer fine decanter?"

"I should have killed you!"

A slow low giggle escaped his lips in the gloom, slowly escalating into rolling chuckles, then frenzied laughs at the anger of Doctor Caius. He pulled the heavy crystal decanter off the table, intending to smash it the fireplace, but his eyes were caught by the mirror above the fireplace; dazed, he stared back at the devilish lean hyena of face that was Mr. Ballad, smirking at him with an evil glint in his lavender eyes.

"Negative! Primitive! Limited! *I* let _you_ live! Do'ye think the experiment were a failure? Unexpected 'side' effects? Oh, Etro, how very like you to think that, you simple minded pathetic dreamer."

"But I gave you life!"

"What else could you do, my Dear Dr. Caius?"

"To do what was right!"

"But I'm perfect, are you?"


	10. Lightning's Labyrinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Please give full credit to the wonderful late Jim Henson & Henson Productions for the film lines from Labyrinth. Muse had loaded several sound tracks on the IPod and the track 'Hallucination' provided inspiration for this short piece. This is not as ghoulish as prior chapters; Hope and Lightning lovers may find it a rather interesting combination. Perhaps the theme may be enough to pen a Labyrinth/Final Fantasy XIII crossover later…

_Count the bricks one by one, then knock them down just for fun_ …she was so damn tired of these endless walls, no daylight, no fresh air, just bricks and mortar, twists and turns and dead ends; the heart of Luxerion, a labyrinth of little paths and alleys that led to the strangest of forbidden places…or nowhere at all.

She knew she was close, and pushed on, driven and desperate. It was the thirteenth day, already half past nine, and she had yet to reach the heart of the labyrinth, the castle, where the damned king of it all, Snow, _Snow Villiers_ , of all the people, was holed up with Luminia, her baby sister Serah reincarnate. She had until the end of the thirteenth day to find her, or she'd never see her again. It had been a mighty chase, with demons, tricks, spells, and unlikely enemies as well as friends met along the way. She had never expected Noel Kreiss to turn the way he did; nor did she understand Vanille's refusal to help her at all.

Vanille was far behind now, and Noel, who'd turned back to Etro, trailed behind her, panting; she was beginning to pant now herself, and her energy was dwindling; her stomach growled sluggishly as she leaned against a wall to rest her aching feet and knees. She smiled wryly commenting: "Just as dead as 700 AF, eh, shadow hunter? There is nothing to eat for miles!"

"Uh. Here, Lightning." Noel held out a lovely thing, all blush red and covered with a velvet nap; she almost squealed in delight at seeing the fruit in his hand, and with no hesitation, she picked it up and bit; the aroma of a ripe peach and sweet juice filled her mouth; it was so good…too good. It was too perfect a moment, the timing was too perfect. A slow dread filled her eyes and she turned to Noel and quietly said: "Oh. Noel, what have you done?"

Tears filled the eyes of the young man as he brokenly said: "Damn Snow. And damn me too. He made me do it." He tried to support her as she slumped in a drugged daze, but she pushed him off.

"Go…save your soul…go…Oh! Everything's dancing…"

Floating, she idly watched the bubble of the full moon float between the brick walls and scoop her up like a broken Cinderella in a glass coach and bear her away to the castle at the heart of the labyrinth.

"I'll give you your dreams, Lightning, for her. You have so many…But I know you want _this_ one…" A soft, smooth rasping voice laughed in her ears. The glass bubble popped and she was at the doors of the great hall; muffled music and laughter bled through into her stoned state of mind, and she nodded to the doormen. They opened the doors, and Lightning stepped into the scene of her heart's desire.

It was a party, a masquerade, which she had dearly loved when young; the guests were in masks and elaborate costumes from a bygone era; she was not astonished to see she was also in the same garb, and caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, which did astonish her very much, for she saw not Lightning, the stern champion of Etro in silver armor, but an extraordinarily lovely woman; oh yes, she was a woman, with a dainty wasp waist laced into a full skirted gown grand enough for a duchess, like a pale moon in ivory silk, with a far warmer ivory flesh gracefully displayed; the bare shoulders were a flirtation unto themselves, the décolleté was flawless and enhanced with the sparkle of exquisite fiery diamonds, and her face was that of a peerless demi-goddess, soft rose lips so inviting, so…kissable.

She felt a soft hand fall on a bare shoulder and she knew the gentle touch; it was him, and she turned gladly, but there was nothing but empty space behind her. She began to eagerly search the crowd for the face and form she just knew was there; her secret darling, her obsession, the cause of the silent adoring passion that she never spoke of. She caught a glimpse of a tall lean form, clad in a formal jacket encrusted with diamante, sharp as glass shards, a flash of pale silk brushing a high collar, and caught her breath, then twirled and ducked her way through the crowd in the grand salon to get closer; but again, he seemed to float away, disappear behind a group or a an odd mask, half animal, half demon. She looked for her mask and found none on her face, just a cascade of platinum rose hair and shadowed eyes – but there! She caught a glimpse of his face, cool gemmed emerald eyes against a warm gold face and a warmer ice white smile at her, charmed at this secret romantic meeting of eyes across the room. She felt her body melting, her feelings running like a tumbling mountain stream with too much tenderness; she wanted to go to him, and make him so glad he was a man, give herself, allow the world to see what she adored, what made her weak; her shame, her secret sin, her ultimate pleasure, her one and only…Hope.

She turned, and shut her eyes to shove her way to the banquet table where she'd seen him lying against a voluptuous woman's shoulder, being fed dainty tastes; to her surprise, the seat was empty; she blinked owlishly at the balcony above her head, after glimpsing a head of silver hair in the small crowd of revellers – how on Pulse did he get up there? She looked for stairs, intending to take them shaky legs or not, then stunned, saw the diamante coat and flashing emerald eyes under a delicately boned mask sail by in a waltz with a stunning redhead in raven's feathers; this chase was becoming sweet cruelty, she wanted, she desired, she lusted for her beautiful Hope and he was always one step away, or nowhere to be found.

Then a hand light as a butterfly landed on her waist and a warm breath filled her ear: "Dance with me." Lightning slowly turned into Hope's arms and he caught her to him as they carefully waltzed across the floor. He was faintly smiling down on her - _how the hell did he get so tall?_ \- the gaze growing limpid and warm at the sight of her dressed to please him. He ever so sensually raised a gloved hand to idly trace the exquisite line of her jaw, a lower lip just pouting for a kiss from his, and down a slim column of a throat to rest on a bare shoulder, like it was the sexiest part of her body he'd ever seen and felt. Her heartstrings sang and thrummed; the memory of her sister in Lumina's capricious little cat face was shoved aside at the vision presented before her; be damned to any end of time, her heart cried to complete the illusion, make it perfect, be with her Hope. He caught the mood and with breathless intensity murmured in her pretty shell of an ear:

"Don't you wish this was our wedding night? It can be, you know…."

Lightning never desired a thing more in her life, and the illusion was almost perfect. Almost.

What made it all come crashing down was a mirror; a simple little silvered circle on the wall behind a flambeau of candles. He'd forgotten in a world of magic, truth can only been seen in mirrors; it sickened her to see the grim reality of dry dead lichs and goblins bobbing and weaving in the fouled cold mildewed stone of the castle walls all around her and her dance partner; the sweet face that leaned into her, begging for a kiss was not Hope's, but the loathsomely aged and repulsive visage of Snow Villiers. That one simple truth, that one crystal moment of clarity nearly broke her in the drugged madness of the masquerade, it nearly killed her seeing what she so badly desired crumble into dust and be trampled underfoot of the gleeful goblins.

Lightning clung to the illusion for moment longer, then steeled herself for the point of the knife driving home in her heart; she looked again in the mirror on the wall behind the broad shoulder and saw Snow's wicked face above the collar of the extravagant diamante court coat and then viciously shoved him away; she picked up one of the hundred twiddly party chairs in her way and threw it with all her might at the mirror, breaking into an explosion of shards. It was as if a hurricane swept through the grand salon, everything swirling away in cold gusts of wind into the night; she glimpsed Noel hanging onto a silk drape and throwing something at her; she reached out as it sailed by, and was surprised to be holding a gunsaber, which she threw out in a hard clean stroke to her side; the blade flipped out and she was locked and loaded into position.

When she landed in a tumble, she ran to the open door of the heart of the castle and nearly screamed as her foot met empty air; the staircase wrapped around beneath her and led nowhere; then even more astonished, saw Snow walking upside down two sets below her, with the still form of Lumina in his arms. She took a leap of faith and plummeted down, landing in front of her nemesis, her chaotic opponent, The King of all the angst and grief and evil for the past 500 years in Luxerion and held out her sword in challenge.

Her hand trembled, she was tired beyond belief, but her eye was steady. She began to speak, and it was like Etro herself delivering an oracle, her lovely contralto echoing in the anomality of time and space:

"Give me my sister. Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the heart of the last Luxerion…"

"No! Don't say them, don't say the words…I worked so hard to bring this together, and who did I do it for? I did it for you! I moved time and space, I did as you asked, I took your baby sister…

"… to take back the sister that you have stolen. For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great..."

"….I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave."

"You have no power over me."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Inspired by 'Cypress Grove' by Clutch, a very visceral piece of music gifted by Muse. Vanille seemed a perfect Voodoo Priestess. Please note any recognizable paraphrased lyrics are Clutch; there is no intent of gain or profit, the story is for simple amusement; the scene is also inspired by the author's home, where a river runs through an appropriately spooky bottom land, and there is a legend of rebel gold in them thar hills...please forgive the phonetical spelling of the local twang; it is essential to get a feel for the culture. I hope the many international readers do not get confused; if you do, please write and a thorough explanation of southern accents and voodoo culture will be attempted for you.

"C'mon, walk faster."

"Whassa matter, boojums on yer back?"

"So get to punkin' an' doan look back." His voice lowered to a whisper: "One way ticket on a two way track."

"Ain't nothing a good gun and a blade can't handle, old man. Buncha wermin doan' excite me to a blaze of fear."

"If you a man, you doan' go to Cypress Grove at night. Remember sheriff Jackson? Noel fuckin' Kreiss Jackson? Wellll, he done go inna da bar, Lebreau's, ya know? He been chasin' some fine stink all up an' down da Gapra Whitewoods all summah long; it been said he been done gone crazy ovah his bounty, a pretty lil' thang gone wild, Serah Farro-hn. And you know dem Farrons is some mighty fine stink, faces like angels, hips like de devil's mistress, dandy with a blade or a bow…yep, you know, you seen her sistah, Miss Eh'Claire Farron at the last MardiGras, eh? An' da way she done cold cock m'suier Villers for layin' an improper hand on her sistah while dancin'? Anyways, dat man done show up at Lebreau's on a full moon night, drink missy Lebreau's 'shine, then threaten to close it down effen he doan' get his stink. They tell him go out back, she be there with Miss Vanille, its conjure night, they raising da Baron Samedi, but he never come back. Now his daughters, they all wearin' black, but they doan' know, ya see? There weren't nothing to find, not even a hair off his handsome Acadian head, nor a tassel offen his belt. Dat man done _gone_ , boy. So get to punkin'. And doan look back. Evah. Hear me, Gadot?"

Gadot shrugged, but kept walking, kicking up little puffs of dust on the road. Sazh looked disgustedly behind him and ordered: "Stop dat. You is leavin' a trail. Tread lightly on Miss Vanille's doorstep, heah?"

"Oh for freakin' Etrossake, Sazh, Da wermin can't be everywhere at once; effen it's full moon, all dem in da Grove be at cemetery, wakin' up da Baron. They leaves a lookout onna da hill, I allas seen a jacked up Ford an' a mess o' pink hair stickin' out under a widebrim 'round sunset. Gots a mean dog, too. Bloodhoun'. So I say we is in da clear. Why, I bets we could just walk down from da crossroads to Lebreau's and waltz on in any o' dem shacks and find 'em empty."

Gadot gave an empty mirthless grin, somehow looking unpleasant, his full lips stretching to display an enormous set of teeth, slightly yellowed. He unlatched his weapon and carelessly threw it over a broad shoulder, a full 23 inch bicep flexing under the shirt, as he started to swagger down the road in the dusky moonrise.

"Sazh? You evah heah about da stash in Cypress Grove?"

Sazh grunted, not wanting to even talk now; the hill had eyes, it did; he always got nervous around the Grove, imagining dark shadows flitting from trunk to trunk in the gloom. The others in town laughed at him when he told them they were zombies of Miss Vanille's, or shadow boojums conjured by the women to watch over them.

Gadot blindly stumbled on: " Ah do believe there just might be a grain o' truth in that there fable, sirrah. I'se been setting traps up by da slew, where da crick crosses de road, and guess what dey netted?"

He dug in his pocket and threw a small dull object at Sazh, who caught it, and gaped as the object was recognized.

"Yup. Dem wermin done found da stash of rebel gold. Wanna go get us some, old man?"

Sazh shook his head and panicked, threw it back at the big man, and slapped him full on the face, raising a red welt mark on the sunburnt skin. He gasped: "Oh, sirrah! Youse in BIG trouble now! Go put it back! Before they sees it missing! They does the count every full moon, you damnfoolBohdumBoy! " He abruptly turned around and started back at a rapid shuffle, Gadot running to catch up. His face wore a look of dismay, half wanting to disbelieve Sazh, but tradition won out; he was Bohdum bred and raised, and knew there were things in the swamp you didn't mess with.

It took a good 30 minutes to get back to the crossroads, and they heard the beat and throb of the drums in the distance; the conjure time had already started, and they relaxed a bit, knowing Cypress Grove would be deserted. Gadot carefully pulled the trap line from under the bridge, but puzzled when it came up empty. Sazh groaned, knowing it had been pulled. They were already on the hunt for the missing gold. He decided to cut and run, leaving Gadot gaping at the crossroads.

He turned to follow, intending to use shank's mare to full advantage, but he walked into a blade held at throat level; a shotgun 44 was leveled at his gut, and a familiar widebrim hat jerked towards a decrepit Ford with the trunk open. He sullenly allowed himself to be marched to it, then night exploded in a thousand stars as the butt of the gunsaber landed with a solid thump on the back of his skull.

He awoke in the ruddy firelight, warming him in the cool crisp fall night; he quizzed at the puzzling scene of feet in front of him, until he realized he was lying on his side; the twin butterflies of pretty feet were bare, but wore extravagant ankle bangles and toe rings; then he slowly blanched as the scene of one foot perched on a human skull sank in. It was _her_ , Miss Vanille.

Silently he took the mistress of Cypress Grove and her court in: a lovely fresh face, ageless, yet wise beyond her years with a hooded look of amused power glimpsed in emerald green eyes. She was exquisitely clad in a few pieces of cloth and fur, highlighting the voluptuousness of her figure; they had adorned her with yards upon yards of primitive beads until she was draped like an effigy of the goddess Etro herself. He sat himself up, then stood; he eyeballed her before inquiring with the friendliest of tones: "Y'all wouldn't have seen an old man, about as old as the hills, by the name of Sazh 'round here, would you? " His mirthless smile came up again, looking like the teeth of an Equus, the horse of the dead that pulled haunted carriages and such.

A velvety voice answered: "M'seiur Gadot, why you be looking for a _man_ in Cypress Grove? Nothin' but us wimmen, as you can see. And y'all know the law 'round heah – no man in Cypress Grove after dark. So….pray do edify us fairer sex as to what extenuatin' circumstances allow you to go without being judged by the law 'round heah, suh."

Gadot swaggered a step or two forward, then gave his best courting bow and held out his massive hand before saying: "Why miz Vanille, just bein' poh-lite and returnin' something ya'll might have lost; an' heah it is, if you please, is it youhs, ma'am?" The fingers unfolded and in his sweaty palm lay a dirty and discolored piece of old coinage, pure gold underneath the debris.

Miss Vanille's face was impassive, as all the rest of the faces in firelight were; they damn well knew what it was, and they also knew if they admitted if they recognized it, Gadot would have something on them; up until now, the rumor of an enormous stash of rebel gold was just that: rumor. There was no way they'd ever let this Bodhum bumpkin in on the secret. Besides, he was a church-going man, and they hated the holy rollers and divers passionately; they always were calling them whores of the devil and burning down shacks when they got the courage. Miss Vanille decided they needed a lesson, a proper lesson to leave the devil's own to his own.

Gadot grinned, knowing by the lengthy silence they knew what was in his hand; his self-righteous soul burnt up any noble intentions, and he decided to play his upper hand immediately; when else would he ever have the chance to do so with these bitches?

Miss Vanille flicked her eyes to the side at her leftenant, a fine dark-haired swamp bred Acadian only known as Fang; they smiled and shrugged diffidently, the others following suit; a soft patter of drum beats began and slowly they went back to preparing for their feast with the baron. The gorgeous redhead motioned Gadot forward, and gracefully unfurled a narrow hand to her left, indicating he should take a seat there. He sat, still grinning with his over-large teeth and accepted a jar of 'shine from Fang, who twitched her blue sari a bit lower to give him a taste of the upcoming eye-candy that would be exposed during the height of the ceremony; everyone went into a frenzy after they witnessed the sacrifice to the Papa Loa and drank in the bowl to see.

An hour later and Gadot was king of the world; he had consumed an enormous amount of 'shine and enjoyed the women moving to the beat of the drums; they all seemed to have eyes for him and it excited him no end to see bared breasts and quaking bellies. Nothing mattered anymore, not Sazh, not his traps, not church, not even the bizarre glimpse of Jackson, looking stoned out of his mind and led about by a leash; they'd mockingly put him in a skirt, ostensibly to make a woman out of him after jumping up and down all summer to make his brass balls clank. No wonder no part of him was ever found. Gadot remembered what a complete and utter bastard he was, how intent he had been on finding the Farron minx, and laughed heartily at the sight of the proud sheriff's humiliation, served him right, it did; and it looked like the Farron minx, that Serah, was enjoying it a bit, too. Then his mouth went dry and his eyes clung as Miss Vanille slowly rose from her throne, sinuous as a snake.

She began to dance, to welcome the baron and prepare for the sacrifice, which Gadot had no idea about; she wove a subtle enchantment about him, her beads gently jingling, her sweet ageless face alight with wicked amusement. He clumsily gained his feet and began to stomp and howl, following the voodoo priestess around the bonfire to the altar. He was totally enthralled now; she held such promises in her eyes and how he wanted them to be fulfilled. He held out his arms to her, smiling, ready for his slice of heaven. The glance stayed a moment longer and held his; her bright green eyes were hypnotic and she smiled as if he were the answer to all her dreams.

She lifted her hand and blew, the fine powder concealed within was inhaled and he fell down dazed, but not before he saw the slim figure of sheriff Jackson, in his ragged blue skirt shuffle forward and mindlessly grin before squatting in front of him, driving the point of Miss Vanille's big sacrifice knife in the ground over and over again.


End file.
